The Truth in the Perfection
by Skole
Summary: When Booth hooked up with Hannah, he had no clue what she really had in store for him. She wasn't perfect, and he sure as Hell didn't know the truth. Join my twisted re-imagining of Season 6. It will mess with your mind :D Reviews welcomed.
1. Rendezvous  A Prelude

**The Truth in the Perfection**

**Chapter 1: Rendezvous - A Prelude**

**Rated M, for violence, sexual scenarios and plenty of other implied nastiness.**

**Disclaimer:** Although this story is written in the BONES Universe, I really, really, don't think anyone would lay claim to this.

**A/N: This is a story of B&B...from a very different perspective. This concept arose from a frustrated late night conversation with MiniSkole, when I was lamenting the current reality of Season 6 and whinging that writing fanfic in this climate is so much less enjoyable. I like to write canon stories...but the show seems to have abandoned their own canon formula of late; which frustrates me no end. When I crankily suggested abandoning the world of fanfic, MiniSkole threatened to kick my arse...then she asked me why Season 6 is troubling me...it's Hannah, I answered **_**('Duh!' I hear you say...).**_** No really, but perhaps not in the way that you think...in the aftermath of her departure, I wanted more from her presence in the story than her just being a scripted plot device...because what I've seen doesn't scan. MiniSkole is wise **_**(and her motive is really that she just wants me to write more fanfic)**_**, because she asked me how **_**'I'**_** would have characterised Hannah...It was a bloody good question. What follows is my answer to that question – whether you're a shipper, a noromo or ambivalent on the subject of a B&B relationship, I believe that this re-imagined version may have something for you.**

**This story is dark, raw, dirty, violent, and unapologetically confronting. If you are a little uncomfortable or offended by what I portray, if you feel my anger and frustration coming through...I've made my point. In my opinion, portraying perfection, **_**(not as in the 'perfect' Saint Hannah we've seen on TV)**_**, is not about subscribing to an accepted checklist of attributes, it is about honestly conveying the truth and having the bollocks to accept that truth at face value. Facing the truth is the key to the experiencing the human condition.**

**Happy Birthday Brainysmrfs!**

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_Afghanistan - Midday - Weather forecast: Hot, and drier than the cock on a camel's carcass_

Hannah Burley dutifully trudged toward the outskirts of the compound in the searing heat; the smell of baked silica and old diesel cloying her in her nostrils, the parts that weren't being scorched by the burning air anyway. As a rule, she didn't do _'duty'_...here in a war zone there was an oversupply of the dutiful, on all sides. But this duty she would do without question, just as she had been taught, painfully and pleasurably; not that she could tell the difference any more.

There was no warning when the hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged backwards through the open doorway of a disused supply dump. There never was any warning. Putting up token resistance, which was expected; she tried to relax enough to spring into action if required when she was released, because this was also expected of her. The hand released her mouth and her body was slammed into a heavy steel equipment locker covered with graffiti and faded paint stencils. It hurt, but her Beloved Master always rewarded her suffering; not that she would ever call him that aloud, let alone even think the Arabic phrase in her head...especially not here.

.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

She nodded. For these rendezvous, the agreed communication strategy was _'don't speak unless specifically asked to'_.

"Tell me how much you missed me?" he demanded.

"My mouth aches for the taste of you," she said in a low voice.

"Always pushing for the reward, Hannah," he said with a hint of amusement.

She raised her arm to block the full armed slap that she knew was coming, her wrist jarred with the impact. He grinned and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She arched her back, her lips parted to accept his crushing lips and thrusting tongue. Hannah made a wanton grab for his cock through the fabric of his military issue cargo pants, he batted her hand away and released her lips.

"Talk first," he growled. "You won't be getting any of your famed cock-sucked confessions from me."

"Fine," she said with a pouting smile, only a little disappointed and mildly relieved that she'd been given permission to speak freely. Sometimes he wouldn't allow her to speak at all if he couldn't confirm the integrity of his jamming devices and numerous other precautions that were taken.

"I have a job for you," he said walking away from her to take a seat on an old munitions crate. He waved at the floor, indicating that she should sit. She obediently took a cross-legged position precisely three feet in front of him, forcing her to tilt her head up to make eye contact.

"Finally," she said with a smile. Interviewing a seemingly endless procession of grunts about the mundane reality of their patriotic duty for the past six weeks was getting on her nerves.

"We found a target for you. Army Ranger. No formal ties. Federal agent Stateside. Big and muscle-bound, just how you like 'em," he said.

"What's the hook?" she asked.

"He's taking cannon-fodder on patrol by numbers, doing some sort of training. Get yourself to the coordinates at the time given in your _'weather report'_. I'll be creating a skirmish. I'll take a few shots at you, but I'll miss...you need to get arrested, not hospitalised," he explained.

"I'm thankful..." she said.

"Not until my cock is in your mouth, you dirty bitch," he said with a husky laugh.

"You know what I like…" she sighed. It was a fact. He did know.

"There's more," he said shortly, all business. Sex would have to wait.

.

"What's the catch?" she asked.

He gave an approving nod at her perception. "He's got more than half a year left on his contract. We would have preferred if he was a double-digit man, but he's based in D.C., an opportunity too fucking perfect to waste."

She agreed. But double-digit guys were on the final count-down to home, she loved to take advantage of their desperation and frustration; with her mouth in their crotch, using her teeth to graze their manhood. She was getting hot just thinking about it.

"His name is Booth, Sergeant Major Seeley Booth. He could be the one, Hannah. The guy who will get you to the President," he said.

"Speed the day," she said wistfully. Five years of false starts and shagging in a sandbox.

.

He stood and took the step forward that put him within biting distance.

"Don't even think about using those teeth on me, Hannah," he growled.

She gave a light laugh. Her little biting fetish was out of bounds for them, unless she was planning on getting her teeth knocked out. Sometimes, when she was feeling petulant about his treatment of her, she toyed with the idea of it being worth the pain. He stepped back and circled around behind her. _'Fucking tease' _she thought to herself.

"On your knees!" he ordered. She complied, instantly flooded with desire for her Beloved Master. Her first lover. He promised that he would be her last. She believed him.

"On all fours, my little Nomad," he said with mirth in his tone. Giving her a rough nudge of encouragement when she gave a huff and hesitated. It was a game they played. Her hands hit the stony sandy packed earth with a slap. Using his pick-pocket fast reflexes her pants pooled around her knees and she heard him freeing her reward. He knelt behind her and she pushed back against him eagerly, to accept her reward. It wasn't her heart's desire; he knew it too. He knew what she liked, but the floor of a supply dump wasn't where she would get it.

She released a pent-up breath as he drove himself deep and took his time. He could be a greedy lover, but he was fair...always delivering her incredible pleasure. It was a combination of his skill and their familiarity. He had taken her thus the first time, when she was sixteen; after spending almost an hour driving her inexperienced body along a shuddering knife edge of pleasure on the floor of the neighbour's Den; while the kids she was babysitting slept upstairs oblivious. She arched her back and sighed. Downward facing doggy-style, she would only ever do this with him, that was the deal. It was theirs alone. Sensing her wavering attention and feeling his own rising ardour, he withdrew and pushed her shoulders down to lap roughly over her sex while she crooned and hummed for more. When she was resonant with arousal and engorged in readiness, he coated his thumb with the salty essence of himself as she looked back at him over her shoulder with a wide smile.

"You're too good to me, Jacob," she growled.

He grabbed her hips and leaned forward so his weight was distributed over her hips and lower back, inserting his thumb into her mouth as he prepared to slam them both into violent sensual oblivion.

"Snare Booth for me, my little Nomad...and I'll show you how good I can be..." he rasped next to her ear.

There were no more intelligible words that followed.

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**A/N: I'd just like to express my sincere thanks to NatesMama, who has graciously allowed me to experiment this story on her awesomeness, under the guise of being my Beta. I usually don't work with a Beta - but this story is so far out of left field for me. Reviews would be nice, but I completely understand if you refrain...**


	2. The Hook

**The Truth in the Perfection**

**Chapter 2 - The Hook**

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**Rated M, for violence, sexual scenarios and plenty of other implied nastiness.**

**Disclaimer:** Although this story is written in the BONES Universe, I really, really, don't think anyone would lay claim to this.

**A/N: Thanks for the interest and reviews…folks are wondering where I'm going with this, that's cool…it's going to be a dark alternative, which might make more sense of the things that I couldn't quite suspend reality over when I watched them.**

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_Afghanistan - Midday - Weather forecast: Hot; with a chance of fellatio under a fig tree_

The _'weather report'_ had come through with the coordinates and details of the patrol that Jacob was going to take pot shots at. Hannah had a range of protective gear that she could have worn, but she wanted to give the impression of vulnerability, so she took the risk of simply wearing a light flak jacket. She trusted Jacob not to shoot her, he was an excellent marksman, but he needed to keep her safe from crossfire, so his tactics for the skirmish had been planned based upon intel about the training patrol grids. Hannah didn't know where the information came from; she didn't want to know.

.

She had arranged to meet two local men to conduct an interview about the positive impact of new water supply that had been established for the community, with assistance from the engineering corps stationed in the region. These stories were humanitarian filler stories that helped to balance the more confronting tales that emerged sporadically; when IED's took out patrols or innocents were caught between insurgent and allied forces. Her jack of all trades side-kick, Manny, was almost a linguistic savant, his secondary talents of being a camera and sound-man eliminated any need for Hannah to think about setting up shots and staging her reports. The lanky man followed her like a loyal Great Dane, whenever she happened across something news-worthy he was there, capturing the moment, with Hannah centre stage.

She waited next to a stall draped with bolts of cloth and rough hand loom-woven fabrics, Manny lounged against a crumbling wall in the meager shade and lit a hand-rolled cigarette. Spotting the patrol of US and their less well-fed Afghani counterparts, Hannah schooled her breathing and feigned indifference. She was here to talk to locals, the US Army presence was just part of the scenery. Hearing the scuff of Manny's boots behind her, he cleared his throat surreptitiously and spat casually against the wall. Seeing two adult males accompanied by three boys who would be in Junior High if they'd the fortune to be born Stateside, crossing the square. Her heart rate maxxed out. Jacob would be here somewhere, waiting and watching. The local men that she was here to meet hailed an elderly man leaning on a cane, and the men began jabbering in welcome. Hannah waited patiently. What happened next would be at the moment of Jacob's choosing, as it should be; as it had always been.

.

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_She recalled when Jacob had first truly revealed himself to her; days after her father had died. Barely fifteen, Hannah had been angry at the World; angry at her father for dying, angry at her meddling distant relatives who were hell-bent on deciding her fate. The rugged strong man, the complete antithesis of her frail shell of a father, had showed up to fulfil his duty as the executor of his will, becoming her unlikely protector and a weapon against the greedy relatives; small-minded people who only wanted access to the teenaged orphan and through her, her father's sizeable military pension. Jacob was significantly younger than her father, but they had been as thick as thieves as long as she could recall, spending hours in her father's sprawling workshop; working on customising weapons, poring over designs, developing prototypes. Holidays and weekends had been spent at remote camps in the desert, in the wilds, and in remote rocky seascapes. Her father's friend and confidant had nicknamed her 'little Nomad' in honour of her mother's heritage. The nickname had stuck. He had addressed her thus when he rescued her in the vulnerable aftermath of her father's passing, putting her relatives back in their place, producing documentation that named Hannah as his ward until she reached her majority. Jacob had even permitted her to cut and bleach her mousy sun-streaked hair into thick golden waves in similar tones to those of her father before the chemotherapy had chemically scalped him. She showed up to the funeral moody, proud and defiant in the face of her father's family, who wanted nothing to do with her after learning that she wouldn't line their pockets. That was okay, the feeling was mutual._

.

A shot rang out, followed almost immediately by a second, sending up puffs of sand and stinging shards of sandstone as the shells impacted the wall behind the stall. The local men had been approaching her position and had dived for cover. Yells and screams erupted in the ensuing panic. One of the younger men crossing the square had collided with the side of a car body and was wailing in a warbling half-broken voice, his shoulder dislocated. Hannah barely had time to duck for cover when a large body clad in camouflage fatigues shielded her from both light and incoming bullets. Two more shots fizzed by and hit the stall with deafening cracks upon impact. Hannah wiggled, instinctively trying to move in self-preservation, away from the fire fight. She found herself suddenly crushed against the torso of the soldier.

"Geez, lady!" he growled. "You're safe, okay...so long as you stay the fuck down!"

Obediently, she ceased struggling, staying cocooned under the shield of his body until the all clear was called. She was gruffly directed to sit against the wall in the dwindling shade. A Humvee ground to a halt in front of the stall and two grunts jumped out, one of them carrying a battered early model Dragunov rifle, complete with a scope perhaps twenty years out of date, which was secured to the rifle with duct tape. The weapon was presented to Hannah's protector, whose name tape proclaimed him as _'Booth'_. Excellent. She'd been prepared to fight, curse and sass her way up the ranks to get to Booth; all of which was now unnecessary.

Booth took the rifle from his team member and unrolled a small carpet from the stall and began placing parts of the weapon onto the coarsely woven surface as he stripped it down. He peered through the scope and gave a derisive snort.

"I've seen water pistols in better shape than this piece of scrap!" he announced. "It's as old as I am."

"Ancient then, Sarge!" quipped the a team member leaning against the Humvee, who was wearing similar stripes of rank. Booth replied with a middle finger, and then held up the scope.

"This scope is more your vintage, Master Sargeant," said Booth, tossing it to his colleague, who snatched it out of the air, peered through the scope and grimaced. "On a clear day, you could use that thing to find your dick. You should send one of these home to your girl...spice up your life!"

Raucous chuckles came from the gathered soldiers. The Master Sargeant cupped his balls and took another look through the scope, pantomiming that his package appeared huge under the magnification.

"Here, stumpy-stumpy..." A voice from inside the Humvee crooned, generating more dirty laughter.

Booth rolled his eyes and called the team to order. "Okay, ladies, save it for the showers. Little wonder the shooter didn't hit anyone. Let's process the scene and get the Hell back to base. You know the drill, so let's go."

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Hannah looked up at her target with an easy smile. Manny was now seated next to her, regarding the hulking Ranger through hooded eyes, although Booth wasn't his type, Hannah's _'Boy Friday'_ was enjoying the eye-candy, clearly liking what he saw.

"Hannah Burley," she said, sticking out her hand.

"I'm gonna need to see some ID. Standard procedure. We can swap life stories when we get back to base, okay?" said Booth. He checked Manny's ID and handed it back with a nod, but frowned at Hannah's.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. Knowing full well that there was.

"Your authorisation card is expired. Care to explain it?" asked Booth curtly.

"That must be my old card. My current card must be in my other jacket...laundry day," she quipped.

"That explains why you're wearing a flak jacket that wouldn't deflect a paintball," countered Booth, unimpressed. "We'll need to straighten this out officially. So, your laundry day just got you arrested, Ms. Burley. All going well, there'll be no charges and you'll get off by sundown."

She pouted prettily and bit back on her triumph. If she had her way, he'd be getting off by sundown too, courtesy of her. Licking her lips in anticipation, she hoped that she just would appear to be nervous.

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Sure enough, things were straightened out and Hannah employed her considerable acting talent to charming the grim-faced Sergeant Major into walking her back to the place she called home. It was a formulaic seduction that she had used on dozens of lonely guys. Seeley Booth, as male and sex-starved as the rest of them, was not immune. Dragging him under a fig tree in the falling darkness, she thanked him for _'saving her'_. Floored by her skilled fellatio and easy going nature, he quickly reloaded and fucked them to oblivion under the fig tree.

Mission accomplished. All Hannah had to do now was wait.

The rest would be history.

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A/N: Are you still with me here?


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